5 Times Watson Was Replaced and 1 Time He Wasn't
by Jennistar1
Summary: ANOTHER 5 times fic of mine! I'm sorry! This time a tale about how Holmes gets over Watson...or attempts to anyway! Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

**5 Times Watson Was Replaced and 1 Time He Wasn't**

**NB: Hello! Sorry for bringing forth yet ANOTHER 5 times fic, but my muse doesn't want to seem to quieten down! Anyway...enjoy please, and do review if you did, it encourages me no end :).**

**I do not own the characters, although I do have to constantly quell the unmistakeable urge to hug them...  
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1. A New Doctor

It was at one of Lord Radford's famous dinner parties that Watson first found out he had been replaced. Radford's parties were well known for being splendid, with every notable person being on the invitation list, and the food was so renowned that even Holmes (who had solved a trifling case or two for the Lord in years past and so had been grudgingly invited) turned up. Watson did not realise this at first - Mary had him in hand and was dragging him around, introducing him to apparently random females with all the glee of a newly married woman, and as a result he was not free to properly look around for over an hour.

It was the ripple of laughter floating from a small group in the centre of the hall that had him looking, and it was the source of the laughter that had him staring.

It was Holmes, but not Holmes as Watson had last seen him (_two days after his honeymoon…lying flat-out on the floor of his even-more-destroyed-than-usual room, eyes wide, soaring somewhere a thousand miles away on the back of one his dreadful drugs)_…no, this Holmes was…well, there was no other word for it - _clean._

He was _clean_ and _tidy_, wearing clothes that were _new_ and _entirely his_, and he was _laughing_, and for once in a _sober _fashion…and…and these people were hanging on his every _word._

Watson felt his jaw drop. The crowd, gathering by the moment, let out another roar at one of Holmes's quips and he laughed with them, his face glowing and eyes glittering with genuine amusement. It had been so long since Watson had seen that expression on Holmes's face that he had to study him hard, just to make sure he wasn't actually mocking them. He was walking towards him before he could think twice.

Holmes seemingly didn't notice Watson's approach, for he launched into another amusing story, and by the time Watson was by his shoulder, was too involved in the punch line to fully acknowledge him, just giving him a little nod before turning back to his eager crowd. Watson hovered on the sidelines, watching Holmes's profile as he entertained the troops; he hadn't seen Holmes like this in so long, in too long, and suddenly he couldn't remember the last time, and something twisted in his stomach. Had Holmes ever laughed with Watson like this? At all…?

Holmes finished the joke, everyone giggled and chuckled, and turned to their respective partner to share the amusement, and Holmes finally turned to Watson, giving him a sidelong grin.

"Good evening, old boy. Ah - !" He leapt to the side to intercept a waiter carrying a tray of filled champagne glasses, missing Watson's own glass raised in respectful greeting. Watson crossed over to stand in front of him before Holmes could be pulled in by another giggling group of ladies (who were hovering annoyingly close to the detective, Watson noted tensely).

"Holmes…you look…"

"Mmm?" Holmes sipped at his champagne, looking over Watson's shoulder at the mixing masses and distinctly only half listening when Watson rambled on.

"You look _clean_ - and for once in your own clothes - and your _hair_ - and you're actually _talking _to people without _mocking them -_ "

"You say this like it's an unexpected thing - _good evening Señor Marcella!_"

"Well…it's - " Watson started, but Holmes was already waving cordially over his shoulder, and he realised he had lost him. He glanced over his own shoulder, to where an unknown, thickset man donned in a military uniform along with several medals and sporting a large moustache was raising his glass to Holmes across the room, nodding respectfully.

"Who's he?" Watson asked, as they watched the man whisper something to the people standing with him, and they all turned to gaze at Holmes with wide eyes.

"Oh…just a case I was working on. You weren't there, you wouldn't know it. Nothing particularly enlightening, though there were some points of interest - "

"You're - you're working on _cases?_" The last time Watson had seen him, Holmes had been up for nothing except his next fix.

Holmes sniffed disdainfully, as if implying that he wasn't constantly working was a glaring slight on his professional character.

"Well, naturally. There have been some rather dramatic ones - you would have enjoyed them." He raised his hand to scratch at his nose, distractedly looking around again at the room, and Watson noticed what he had not before - that Holmes's hand was tightly bandaged up.

The doctor in him took over, and he had reached over before he knew what he was doing, taking Holmes's hand in his and inspecting it carefully. Holmes watched him with the barest of interest.

"A rather perilous case, I suppose?" Watson asked.

"Hmm?" Holmes was watching a group of tittering young ladies now, with a thoughtful expression, and Watson resisted the vindictive urge to squeeze his wounded hand.

"The case?" he prompted instead.

"Oh yes," Holmes said vaguely, his head now tilted slightly to the side. "Quite perilous. My hand came into a rather unfortunate contact with a 17th century rapier. Needless to say, I still got my man." Finally, _finally_ he met Watson's eyes and grinned, taking another sip of his champagne.

Watson frowned down at the bandages instead of matching the smile with his own, his brow creased in concentration.

"This was bandaged up too neatly for you to have done it," he observed.

"What? Oh yes, I got the doctor to bandage it." Holmes's eyes were wandering again, so he missed Watson's sudden start, although he flinched at the fleetingly tight grip Watson pressed on his hand.

"Another _doctor?_ You…saw another _doctor?_"

Holmes glanced back at him. "Yes?" he said, as if he couldn't understand why in the world Watson would be surprised at this.

Watson gaped at him. "But you…why didn't you come to see _me?_"

"You? I assumed you weren't interested, since you were so set on becoming _domestic._" Holmes shot Watson one of his fleeting smiles that said he didn't want to smile at all, and broke off eye contact quickly, nodding at someone else passing beside them and withdrawing his hand from Watson's grip.

"Yes, but…" Watson trailed off again, irritated and confused at his irritation. Why should he be annoyed that Holmes had left him alone? That was what he had been professing to want for _months._ He should be glad, if anything. He downed his champagne, feeling off-balance.

"Anyway," Holmes continued, all blithe ignorance. "Doctor Forthright was close, and offered to fix me up quite happily - "

"_Forthright?_" Watson interrupted snidely. "You mean the Forthright who would have been locked up several times for gross negligence if he hadn't bribed himself out of the courts? _That _Forthright?" He realised he sounded jealous, and once again hesitated, wondering why he should do so. If some other doctor wanted to take the role of being Holmes's nursemaid, then the best of British luck to them - they were going to need it.

Except…that used to be _his_ job…

Holmes shrugged, apparently oblivious of the rearing of Watson's green-eyed monster, and waved at someone else before looking back at his jealous doctor.

"All I know is that he did a good job on my hand." He waited a beat. "Even better than _you_, in fact."

Watson slammed his empty glass onto a passing waiter's tray and flounced off. Holmes took a new glass, sipped at it, and smiled to himself, then went to join another group who were clamouring for his stories and company and whom he all soon charmed.

Watson avoided him for the rest of the night.

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	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Apologies for the late update, but I was being attacked by a nasty bout of writer's block. I really hope its over now, I swear I get it 75% of the year! Anyway, onto the chappie. I don't own these characters...**

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2. A New Lodger

Watson didn't know why he did it. He never did, could never explain it, tried to once, to Mary, and trailed off, getting a sweet, knowing smile from her as he did so. But he still did it, even without knowing why, every week or so, turning up on the doorstep of 221B and feeling like he had never left.

He listened before he knocked, a habit that he had picked up from living there and hadn't quite managed to shake off - usually (especially at this time, just before dinner, when Holmes would get at his most restless) there was a little noise, crashes, banging, even the faint whine of the violin, but at the moment there was…nothing. Utter silence. Watson could even hear birds singing. He frowned.

He knocked on the door, half expecting Mrs Hudson to swing it open and cry in relief at Watson's appearance, as if he were a white knight ready to save her from the claws of Holmes's latest dragon, but instead, when she did open the door, she was…_smiling._

"Er," said Watson.

"Doctor!" she said cheerfully. "Do come in!" Watson didn't think he had ever seen her this relaxed in his life.

"I…um," he replied intelligently, and followed her in.

The hallway was spotless…and also silent. Two things, Watson thought afterwards, that should have made him suspicious from the beginning. Instead, he naïvely handed his coat and hat to Mrs Hudson and said,

"Is Holmes out then?"

"Oh no," Mrs Hudson replied brightly, taking his items and hanging them on the hat stand. "He's having tea."

Watson stared. "But he's quiet. He's _never _quiet." He landed on another idea hopefully. "Maybe he's ill?"

"Right as rain," Mrs Hudson said. "His new roommate just seems to be doing him some good, that's all."

Watson dropped his cane.

"He…you…have a new lodger?"

Mrs Hudson beamed at the very mention of her new guest. "Ooh, he's a wonderful man, doctor. So handsome and kind and courteous - and generous, he gave me a new pinny when he saw mine was on it's way out, look!" And she twirled, giggling almost girlishly.

Watson obligingly looked without really looking. "Lovely," he said. "Look, are you _sure -_ "

"Oh, and he's done ever such a good job with Mr. Holmes!" she twittered on. "I've never _felt_ so much peace, and only a week he's been here too, but he's managed to calm Mr. Holmes down no end, I tell you, doctor, it's a relief."

"Mmm." Watson was too far gone to be properly listening, and let Mrs Hudson chirp on while he narrowed his eyes up at the silent staircase, but his attention was quickly caught when she said, "…and I tell my friends at the Wednesday tea-club, I say, there was never a better tenant than that Doctor Forthright - "

Watson's thoughts screeched to a halt. "_Forthright?_" he said. "_Forthright_ is living here?"

Mrs Hudson nodded _far_ too excitedly and blushed _far_ too much at the sound of his name for Watson's liking.

"Well, Mr. Holmes has always been so taken with him, and then the doctor mentioned he was looking for a place to stay…isn't it a coincidence, that another doctor would take your place - oh, where are you going?"

But Watson was already storming up the stairs without looking back.

"Holmes," he said without preamble, and opened the door to Holmes's room.

And stared.

"Good _God_," he said.

The room. It was clean. It was tidy. Everything was neatly put away in its correct place - papers were in their files, files were stacked on shelves, books were arranged, the chemistry set was all in one place, carpets were washed, ornaments dusted, even the bed was made.

Holmes was sitting in the middle of all this orderliness, looking just as neat as the rest of it and grinning like a Cheshire Cat.

"Good evening, old boy," he said merrily. "Tea?" He waved a perfectly cleaned cup at him.

Watson glanced around him, wondering if perhaps he had taken a wrong turning somewhere and had walked into another room - or perhaps another universe.

"Holmes," he said with trepidation. "This place is _spotless._"

He tried to think of a time when the room had been at least half as tidy as this, and his memory failed him. Nothing short of a miracle could have achieved this.

"Oh yes," Holmes said, pouring tea. "Forthright and I did a little clearing up last week."

He stood up and handed the tea to Watson, smiling brightly. Watson stared at him - ignoring the tea.

"I could never persuade you to do this. How the hell did Forthright do it?"

Holmes shrugged.

"Maybe he was just more…_persuasive_ - careful Watson, don't spill it!"

Watson recovered his tea cup with fumbling fingers, going a little red in the face.

"_Persuasive?_ He - he - ?" It was unthinkable. "He - " he said again.

Holmes took a cheery gulp of his tea and smiled. "He agreed to stay permanently if we could clean up a little first."

Good God. Mrs Hudson had been right. He had been hoping, for no reason whatsoever, that she had somehow been wrong, that he had heard wrong, that this was not what it was…

"He's in my rooms?" he asked numbly.

Holmes flashed him a quick, sharp glance.

"Well now…they're not really _your _rooms anymore, are they? You moved onto the blissful life of the married man." He shrugged. "I needed help with the rent and Forthright was happy to oblige."

Watson discovered he was breathing rather heavily.

"He. Is in my rooms."

"Indeed." Holmes strode to the table and smilingly poured more tea. Watson wondered just how much trouble he would get into for going to a certain doctor's surgery and punching a certain doctor in the face. Quite a lot, probably. And then he wondered why he had even entertained the idea; he shouldn't mind if Holmes had found a new lodger, why should he? He knew that would be the case when he moved out. It was going to happen sometime, so why was he feeling this surge of…of…

Panic? No, not quite. Some familiar emotion. Alarm, almost. Or - perhaps -

He looked around the room again, his mind whirling. From the look of it, Mrs Hudson had been right about Forthright helping Holmes as well. He recalled the party vaguely. He _had _been good for Holmes - _very _good for him. Maybe…just possibly…perhaps Forthright was more good for Holmes than Watson had ever been. Maybe that was why they had squabbled so - maybe it was Watson's fault that Holmes had been so bad when they had lived together. Maybe it wasn't Holmes at all, but Watson's _inability_ to…to _understand _him. After all, this Forthright was obviously good with people - he had charmed Mrs Hudson - good God, had Watson lost Nanny too…?

"Well," he heard himself say quietly. "I can see I'm not needed here."

And he put down his cup and left.

Holmes watched him leave Baker Street through the window, and a thoughtful look was upon his face.

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	3. Chapter 3

**NB: New chapter up! Thank you for all the reviews, you are all lovely people, even if you do have violent tendencies towards a certain Doctor Forthright! :p I really hope you enjoy this chapter! I don't own the characters.**

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3. A New Assistant

It was two weeks later, and once again Watson was back in the confines of 221B, this time with a prize that he was sure would have Holmes eager to spend time with him again…or at least he hoped so, because each attempt he had made so far had been almost carelessly brushed aside, dinner (_"Oh, but Forthright and I agreed to cook for Mrs Hudson tonight, he does do a wonderful meat pie…"_), walks (_"Forthright and I are going to the theatre…"_), even a causal catch-up (_"Not right now, old boy, it's late and I need to discuss a few things with Forthright…"_). It was driving Watson nearly crazy, but this time, _this_ time, things would be different.

He should have knocked. He never _did_ knock, but he thought later he should have, that time. But he had been too careless, too excited even, so he had said "Holmes," as he usually did and had marched through the door -

And came almost face to face with one Doctor Forthright.

"Oh!" said Forthright.

"Ah," said Watson.

There was a screeching silence. Watson surveyed Holmes's new lodger with what he knew must be barely veiled distaste. He had only seen Forthright in the papers (once concerning rumours of his negligence, but most of the time praising his efforts as a doctor - really, thought Watson, sometimes it seemed like the entire _world_ was infatuated with this man), and he had seemed every inch the gentleman, but up close he was even _more_…stately, Watson supposed. He held himself in a certain way, had a certain look in his eye, a ready smile, all of which made Watson feel nothing less than a poor pauper begging for money at his door. He was probably more intelligent than Watson too, he thought grimly, what with being able to dodge those negligence accusations and all. That must have made him all the more attractive to Holmes, Watson supposed. Blast him.

"I was looking for Holmes," he said faintly.

Forthright gave him one of his Smiles.

"You must be Mr. Watson," he said, and extended a hand.

Watson took it, his own smile like flint. "_Doctor_ Watson, actually," he almost snarled back, and had to resist the temptation to break his hand.

"Oh, yes, of course," Forthright said. "Sorry," he added, sounding anything but. "It's just that I haven't seen you mentioned in the papers at all…"

_Bastard._ "Yes, well I like to keep myself out of the courts." _You bastard._

Forthright's smile turned just that little bit colder. He had not let go of Watson's hand. "Indeed," he said coolly.

Watson tried to keep his smile on his face, for all the world as if nothing had happened, as if he had not just thinly implied that Forthright was not a money-grabbing, underhanded, slipshod _cad - calm down John, don't let this man win -_

"I hear you are living here now," he tried to say as brightly as possible, retrieving his hand. "Good luck!"

The look Forthright gave him was carefully blank.

"I don't know what you mean."

Watson faltered. "I mean…with Holmes's antics…I mean, his habits, his erratic hours, the…insane violin playing…" _which I do not miss at all…_

Forthright shook his head. "I don't find it an annoyance."

Watson stared at him. "You don't."

Forthright shook his head with a cheery grin. "Oh no. It's a small price to pay for being near such a genius! I mean, the things he does! The deductions he makes out of the smallest, simplest things! It is quite incredible." He beamed at Watson. "I would never want to argue about his activities. Who could? It would crush down his genius. Quite ridiculous."

Watson tried not to think about the numerous times he had argued, nagged and effectively irritated Holmes into doing things in a _normal _way, such as sleeping at the right times, or eating occasionally. Surely that wasn't wrong? Surely he hadn't been…but maybe he had, maybe he had been stopping Holmes from solving his cases _his_ way…maybe it was essential to Holmes to keep such strange hours, to eat nothing…maybe that was just how he worked, how he operated, and Watson hadn't understood, had thought he was trying to help…

"Indeed," he said faintly in response to Forthright, but before he could say any more, the door was flung open and Holmes blustered in.

"Forthright! We need to go to Scotland Yard at once! I think I've solved the - oh." The little 'oh' was his response to suddenly seeing Watson standing there, not a happy 'oh' but the sort of 'oh' that one would say when one had bumped into someone who they did not quite have time for. Watson tried to smile.

"Holmes! I thought…opera?" He waved around the tickets that he had spent so long and spent so much effort getting hold of - they were tickets to Holmes's favourite opera, which had been sold out for weeks. He had almost literally had to jump through hoops to get them.

"Oh." To his credit, Holmes did waver slightly, but he soon reverted back to the matter at hand. "I have a case…maybe some other time."

Watson tried not to look too devastated. "Right," he said. "Well…perhaps I could come along - ?"

"Oh no, that's all right - Forthright's coming - are you, old boy?" he directed smoothly at Forthright, who nodded eagerly. _Old boy_, thought Watson, gritting his teeth. Holmes had only ever called _him_ 'old boy' before…

Holmes turned back to Watson. "Sorry, but…too many doctors spoil the broth and all that…"

Watson forced himself to nod. "Of course."

Holmes clapped his shoulder, briefly, not like he usually did, with a clasp and a prolonged touch, but fleetingly, as if he no longer had the time for any more. "Go back to your wife, old chap," he said brightly. "She'll be wondering where you are - Forthright, can you get your pistol? This expedition will most likely be dangerous."

And he vanished down the stairs, and out of Watson's life once more, without even a second glance. Forthright flashed Watson a glowing smile and retrieved his gun from a drawer (Watson noted uncomfortably that it was identical to his).

"Personally," Forthright said, tucking it securely into his belt and glancing over at Watson, "I don't know how you could bear to leave this - all the cases, the excitement, the danger! It's wonderful! Quite wonderful, I could never leave."

He was gone whilst Watson was still stuttering over an answer.

Watson stood alone in the empty, clean room. It seemed unnatural, felt unnatural, all this order in a place where he had only known a somehow blissful chaos.

He had not said it, but the words seemed to echo through the silence anyway. _I don't know either._

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